Jack the Ripper
by SakuraAlex
Summary: Madness is somethig that can affect anyone. Even to whom is most unexpected and though is not for long.


I've just saw a musical about Jack the Ripper and I needed to write this. It's a translation of a story of mine too. I hope yo like it :3

Note: I'm not a native english speaker, so sorry if there is any mistake! :3

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It was a rainy and cold night that announced the already close winter. England was calmly drinking a cup of tea while reading one of the local newspapers. In addition to the immovable pieces of new about economy and politics, telling about the crisis that seemed stuck with them forever, there was other that, apparently, wasn't so important. Apparently. One of those pieces of new catch his attention. It told about the assassination of a married couple in one of the London suburbs. Interested and surprised, he read it: the couple had been found inside their house, but also the murder weapon, as well as many fingerprints and the police was checking the evidences in order to find the culprit. England knew for certain that it would be find soon. That murderer hadn't been careful at all.

He raised his cup of tea and gulped it to put the cup on the table again and leave the newspaper on the sofa. After closing his eyes for a moment, he decided to get up and go to the attic. There he kept lots of souvenirs, from all ages and almost everywhere in the world. Not only there were bad memories; and many times it became a comfort places from where let time go. It wasn't about reject who he was, but not to forget who he had been. For better or worse. But that attic had something more; a secret door that nobody knew about. He went in.

The room in which he stayed was small and there weren't a lot of things; but England had gone there looking for something specific, so that he went straight to a piece of furniture with several drawers. He opened the second one and took out five pieces of cloth. He stroke them, lost in his thoughts, feeling the rough of the dried blood. Mary Ann, Annie, Elizabeth, Catherine and Mary Jane had been the names of the owners of the cloth. They had been the victims of the assassin of London that had become a legend. England closed his eyes, that shined with a strange spark, lost in his memories.

It was 1888, an England had gone for a walk around the streets of his capital city. The police had a new case about murderers around the suburbs. There had always been disappearances and deaths among the prostitutes and indigent people, but never a serial and grotesque case like the one the London police seemed to be working on. It was unusual.

England wandered among the streets and the suburbs. He only wanted to walk, without any purpose in mind, so he didn't mind where he arrived. The day was getting dark, it was cold and it looked like it was going to rain. It wasn't the best time to walk under the open sky. England walked and walked until he realized that had gone into one of the bad neighborhoods of London. A neighborhood that was gaining a not desired reputation. Whitechapel. Jack the Ripper was loose around the streets and he was a really dangerous guy. But he was a nation, so he wasn't worried about it. He kept on walking around the dangerous (not only because of the assassin) streets without caring the attention he could attract. He wasn't dress for a gala at all, but he did was better than most people. That, joined to the top hat and cane, turned him into a declaration of wealth for all the thieves that could be there.

England was starting to feel cold, as well as the lonesomeness of his existence, so he decided to pay attention to what was by the streets. He wouldn't mind stay that night whit a human. A female human, to be exact. Such as his cloths announced, he had money.

It didn't take long to find a lonely woman that smiled him at the very moment he took a look on her. Her youth had been lost long time ago, but her gestures showed that she had learned well the profession on the streets. England thought that her company could be interesting, so he smiled back and went close to her to take her hand al kissed it. The skin was warm and white, and he firmly grabbed to get closer her body and kissed her neck. He felt how the woman laughed, but also how she hugged him back. He smiled. She wasn't beautiful, but her skin was. But there was something even more beautiful than white skin. It was red blood over white skin.

England slowly separated from her while he was taking a knife out of a pocket that was inside his jacket. His green eyes were shining, deep sunken in madness. He wanted to make that woman even more beautiful. She detected the knife by chance and struggled, but the nation was just too strong. One second before the weapon was buried into her neck and took her life, she looked at the nation.

England saw himself reflected into her terrified eyes. And he knew that she, in her last moments, had realized who he was. She knew who he was. Because it was him.

Jack the Ripper.


End file.
